Something To Believe In
by hanandleiahothwars
Summary: Han has a gift for Leia to lift her spirits. Pre-ESB.


There was a spring of purpose to Han's steps as he made his way through the narrow Alliance corridors to the command center. It was late, with only the scant nightshift currently on duty, but there was one member of High Command he was counting on to still be up working. After being away for nearly a standard week on supply runs for both theirs and the nearest Rebel base, he was particularly excited to see Leia again. All the more so knowing the surprise he had in store for her.

Oh, he wasn't going to show it to her just yet. What he had in mind was much grander, something akin to the children's game — on Corellia, called Eharl on the Shelf; on Kashyyyk, known as Sprite in the Wroshyr, a tradition for Chewie and his son every Life Day — that had somehow become popular with younglings at nearly every winter holiday celebration galaxywide.

From the time he picked it up on Narvath, Han had begun gleefully planning a multi-week rollout, complete with holos and accompanying captions to be distributed through the base-wide messaging system. If he played his cards right, he could make this go for months. But that didn't mean he couldn't start hinting already tonight at the little treasure currently stowed safely away in the rucksack slung over his shoulder.

When Han reached the command center, as he'd expected, he found it empty of any other staff. It took him a moment but he eventually discovered Leia in the back briefing room. She was staring fixedly at the far wall as if she saw something more remarkable than the cracked clay. It registered as sufficiently out of character to prickle the edge of his instincts, but it _was_ after 2300; she'd likely been hard at work for hours, probably without bothering to stop to eat, and he was distracted enough by his desire for a teasing reunion that he dismissed it.

Taking a deliberately casual stance leaning against the doorjamb, he greeted her with a charismatically laidback, "Knew I'd find you here, Sweetheart", though he didn't quite succeed in keeping all of the eagerness from leaking into his voice.

Startled, Leia jumped slightly, steadying herself on the lip of the nearby large holoprojector table. "Han. I…didn't expect to see you," she faltered in a vague attempt to excuse her edginess.

Grinning, Han pushed off the wall. "I know; I'm a sight for sore eyes," he bragged, and began heading towards her across the small room.

"My eyes are just fine," Leia replied, looking away from him. To say it had been a rough night would be a gross understatement. Her entire worldview was turned on end, leaving her nowhere near in the mood for a classic Han Solo interaction. "And I haven't the time or patience for your games tonight," she warned.

"Didn't look too busy when I walked in," he shrugged off her prickliness. Stopping before her, Han leaned in, propping his hip on the edge of the table and amping up the charm in the hopes of coaxing a smile out of her yet. "You can tell me, Princess," he cajoled, "you were distracted countin' down the minutes till I got back, weren't you?"

"Actually," she shot back, letting the cool senatorial demeanor take over, "I'd forgotten you were even coming back tonight."

Okay, _that_ rankled Han, more than he was willing to admit — counting down the minutes was one thing, knowing when a friend was returning was a whole other; and would it kill her to have been at least a _little_ looking forward to seeing him? — but he remained determined to salvage his imagined reunion with her.

"That's hardly any way to treat a hard-working member of the rank-and-file just back from a long mission for your Rebel Alliance," he quipped in mock offense; certain that, put-on or not, it would leave Leia chagrined enough to be a little nicer to him.

It, however, had the opposite effect; his words made her immediately bristle.

"You _aren't_ a part of the rank-and-file, because you steadfastly refuse to sign on with the Alliance," she castigated. "So I don't see that I owe you any sort of special treatment. I know this is hard for you to wrap your mind around, but sometimes I have more pressing concerns than humoring egotistical moon jockeys."

Han's face clouded over and he straightened up away from her, stung enough to be provoked into anger now himself. "You're in a rare and fine mood, Your Worship."

Expecting further sniping, he steeled himself for a biting retort, prepared for this to snowball into one of their shouting matches. But, surprisingly, it was his ire and not his charm that elicited Leia's remorse, and she responded instead with a deep sigh and a total change of tone.

"I'm sorry, Han," she apologized with genuine contrition. Whatever else had happened tonight, it wasn't fair to take it out on him. "Welcome back. How was Narvath? Were you able to make the run without much trouble?"

She offered him the smile he'd been hoping for, but thoughts of any potentially flirtatious scenario had already gone out the window, for Han knew Leia well enough to know her out-of-sorts reaction spelled deeper problems she wasn't yet revealing. "No trouble on my end. But I suspect there's some on yours." Dipping his chin to catch her eye, he asked seriously, "What's'a matter?"

She gave a humorless laugh, averting her gaze again — this time turning completely away — and equivocated pithily, "Oh, nothing. Nothing at all…Just a little thing. Just that I've begun to worry you might be right."

"I'm always right. But about which thing this time?" He touched her elbow, hoping to get her to turn back around to him. When that didn't work, he tried his never-fail method of goading. "No wait, let me guess: I was right about how much you'd miss me? How irresistible I am in general?"

She looked back over her shoulder to snort a congenial, "Hardly."

He was about to point out that she'd found him pretty appealing on the last night before he left, when they'd stayed up together drinking too much, alone on the _Falcon's _acceleration couch, and she'd cuddled up into his side all on her own, rested her cheek against his collarbone as they talked, and then he'd caught her looking up at him and they'd both seemed to lean in, and he still didn't know where the evening might have led had Luke not dropped in to say his goodbyes and interrupted.

Han didn't have to say any of that, however; whatever she read on his face as he thought of it was enough to persuade her to turn back to him. "I was talking about what you've said, time and again, about how we're a scraped together bunch of idealists, a ragtag militia that's ill-equipped to defeat the Empire."

"Yeah, yeah, and it's past time I saw the error of my ways, started believing and sign up like the rest of you. I've heard _that_ before," he dismissed, "now tell me what's wrong."

"No, you don't understand. That _is_ what's wrong. This isn't a recruitment pitch. I'm saying that—" Leia cut off, horrified — doubly defeated — that the words were about to come out of her mouth and that, at the moment, she honestly _felt_ them. She continued, but in a quieter voice, afraid to let the Universe hear her. "I'm saying that I think I agree with you."

Han's brow furrowed, genuinely confused, figuring he must not have followed her correctly. "Come again?"

"I think you were right." Her ferocity grew the second time she made the pronouncement, until it was almost a bitter defiance of the fates she was a moment ago so concerned for offending. "Your pragmatism was spot-on. There's no way we can win this war."

Han's eyes sharpened, unequivocally troubled now. Something dire must have occurred to bring her to such a state of mind and he was finished playing around. "What happened, Leia?" A thought occurred to him and he asked with terse concern, "Is Luke alright?"

She shook her head. "Luke is fine. He's here with the Rogues; they're all fine." After a breath, Leia met and held his gaze gravely. "It was the base on Naldar. It's gone, Han," she told him, her voice breaking.

"Kest." He shoved his fingers up into his hair in agitation. "_Shit_."

"The Empire found them. There's nothing left."

"And the survivors? What are the recovery efforts?"

Leia admired his take-charge fervor on behalf of the Rebellion, but he didn't seem to be grasping this. "You're not hearing me, Han. There barely _were_ any survivors. What is there to recover? How is one _supposed_ to recover against an enemy with the Empire's might? So you see, you had it right from day one. You always knew we would fail."

"…Don't know that so much anymore," Han muttered.

She waved him off. "You don't have to lie to spare my feelings. Though, if you could save the gloating for another day, I'd appreciate it. As for recovery efforts, there is no recovery. There's no base left. Nothing. The few that did escape…well…let them go home; they're better off that way."

"Alright, cut it out," he frowned. "What are we really doing to regroup? Are we rebuilding or relocating? I don't believe you don't have a plan."

Leia was too disheartened to appreciate his reflexive use of 'we' and simply said, "I don't know what's being done." At the look he gave her, she doubled down. "I truly don't. High Command might have a plan. _I_ don't." She gestured to the doorway, back toward the greater command center and the corridor beyond. "The rest of the base here, they don't even know about this yet. So many people; exactly like those of us here — lost, just like that….More souls adding weight to my blame."

"_Stop_ it, Leia," Han firmly demanded. "You know that's not true."

"But it _is_ true. And there comes a time when you have to realize the sacrifices are senseless. I can't keep—" She inhaled an audibly shaky breath. "I can't have all these lives, all this blood, on my hands." Her voice cracked again and she took a moment to recompose herself, wiping off the imaginary stains on her palms into her faded fatigues. "In the past few hours, I've had to face some hash but necessary facts. We're outnumbered, outgunned, out-everything-ed. It's as you always said: we can't win, and it's suicide to keep trying."

"You _really_ think I still believe that?"

"Don't you?" Leia challenged.

"Must have a hell of a self-destructive streak, then," Han scoffed, "to still be hanging around fighting alongside you all these years."

"Maybe you like being a part of something. Or maybe," she added bitingly, "it's just what you've repeatedly proclaimed: work is work, and this is as good a place to hide out as any."

"Hey now," he stopped her. "Don't go—"

"You needn't get prickly, Han. I'm not holding it against you for being right. It isn't your fault you weren't blinded by—" What? Hope? Loss? Naïveté?

"I mean it, Leia. Stop talkin' like that," he said in a tone that brooked no arguments. He shook his head in what she interpreted as disappointment. "This ain't you. You don't wallow."

Her spine straightened at that. "I'm not 'wallowing'. This _isn't_ self-pity."

"No, it's worse. 'Cos the only thing less like you than wallowing is giving up."

"Don't judge me!" Leia shouted. "As long as there's breath in my body I would never give up before seeing the Empire — Palpatine, Vader, _all_ of those responsible for these atrocities — destroyed." Just as quickly as it came, however, the fire went back out of her and her shoulders returned to their demoralized slump. "But it's not 'giving up' if you're already defeated."

Han's expression softened and he stepped in closer to her. "Leia, 'm not diminishing what happened. It's bad; there's no way around it. But it was one base. One. The Alliance is _not_ defeated…Seems like you are, though."

"Can you blame me?" she objected resentfully. "I was just on Naldar. You came with me!" she emphasized, underscoring that he should be bleakly dismayed, too. "We met those people: spoke with them, ate with them, shared stories with them. Even if we hadn't, _every_ life is precious. Contrary to popular opinion, I'm not a feelingless droid. This is personal. Loss is personal. Every single one of them had families, people who loved them. And it may be one base now, but the Empire is hunting us, too — especially us, especially wherever Luke is. They're hunting down every base. It's only a matter of time before they find and destroy us all."

Leia was forever the one sent out to pretty up these things and tow the party line, but for once, she was looking at it through weary, jadedly practical eyes. "After the Death Star, we had real momentum. Financial support was easy to find, our military was seen as a serious threat. Now it seems all we can ever take is the defensive position," she outlined with discouraged frustration. "We're _always_ on the run, _always_ in hiding, always just barely escaping from one base to another, hours away from being killed, from sharing Naldar's fate. _How_ can a war be won that way?"

"By still fighting." Han threw out his hands in a sort of half shrug, his brow rising expressively. "'M not gonna lie: right now it's the Empire's game. But any sabacc player'll tell you, the cards change all the time. You gotta keep playing if you ever wanna win."

"Yes, but it's been years, Han. _Years'_ worth of fighting and loss. Each one unbearably costly. After the Disaster — and I hate calling it that, by the way. 'Disaster' makes it sound like some kind of unfortunate accident when it was planetary genocide; it was murder, plain and simple — after that, I promised myself, my people, my parents that I would see an end to the Empire, to any sort of pure evil that could condone such actions. But in all that time, what have I accomplished? What have I _really_ accomplished?" she persisted. "Nothing stops the loss and the death. Nothing stems the flow, and the Empire is just as strong as ever. Whether I'm a figurehead or boots on the ground, not a thing that I do really helps. It doesn't seem to make any difference at all. No matter what position I take, it never makes it any better."

Leia stopped short, her narrowed eyes cutting to his sharply. When, after a beat, he made no response, she exhaled heavily. "And now I know I _must_ be terribly bad off for you to pity me enough not to make a joke about that turn of phrase."

Han huffed out a sound that may have been a bitten back laugh, and shook his head. "No jokes. No pity either. Ones who should be pitied are anyone who stands in _your_ way. Believe me, I know," he added with a touch of cheek, wanting still to brighten her mood.

She answered only with further gravity. "You've never stood in my way…I do a good enough job of that on my own."

Han said nothing, just twitched his shoulder brusquely, sending the bag over it careening down his arm where he caught it, a slight ironic smile now enhancing his lips.

For the first time, Leia failed to find it attractive. "Are you laughing at me?" she asked, outrage seething.

"Nah, at me," he answered, unzipping the rucksack and reaching in to root around. "At thirty-seven hyperdrive hours' worth of strategic thinkin' on the way back from Narvath, about to go up in smoke."

She considered him in abject confusion. "I don't understand."

"I got you something," Han revealed.

Confusion turned to surprise, lightening her features and softening her voice. "You got me a gift?"

"A souvenir," he amended; a small but seemingly important distinction. "Wasn't intending to just hand it to you. I was…saving it." That was putting it mildly, but he nevertheless shrugged off the loss. "I think you need it more." Finding the object he sought, Han pulled it out of the bag and presented it to her. "Here."

It was her automatic reaction to take it from him before she'd even really registered what it was, but looking down, Leia saw it was a rag doll he'd laid in her hands.

At around twenty-five centims in length, its feet and head stretched past her open palms so she stretched out the edges of her fingers to better make out the doll's features. Not that it was necessary; she knew immediately who it was.

The doll's little feet were white-booted, its hair a dark brown. It wore all white, accented with a silver-white cloth belt; its mouth a simple, sweetly curved line, a smile not too exaggerated but kind and encouraging.

"I found it at this stand in the marketplace at Ondaveel," Han explained. "There was a whole basket full. It's handmade. It's _you_." His eyes went from studying hers back down to the doll, turning it over in her hands to point out the details. "See the little buns in her hair," he highlighted, wriggling each in turn with the edge of his forefinger. "And the Senate robes. It's even got your hood." He lifted up the little flap of cloth so she could see before turning it back face-up in her hands. "They did a real fine job, I think. Don't capture your attitude, though. Course they don't know you like I do."

The doll was very sweet but it seemed incongruous to the situation, and her mind was still fixated on the recent loss at Naldar, her heart overwhelmed, hurting and crestfallen. "This is nice, Han," Leia tried at graciousness, "but I don't see how it—"

"Had a whole plan worked out for this," Han interjected. "Long-term, we're talking months here. Pepper the walls of the Mess with holos of her in different places — naturally post 'em on the group chat, too. Would've livened things up a little, raised spirits around base, while gettin' to tease you at the same time. Win-win for all. And it was my chance to announce that I'd finally gotten you to sleep with me."

At the look she gave him, Han smirked shamelessly. "Oh yeah, there _definitely_ would've been holos of me and her together in my bunk. Suggestive but tasteful. After all, what happens on Narvath stays on Narvath…" He sighed regretfully. "But I was _eventually_ gonna let you have her anyway, so…."

He nudged the doll in her hands expectantly.

Leia remained unsure what to make of it, but she could see Han was anticipating some kind of response.

Shifting her grip on the doll so her hands were beneath its underarms, Leia held it out before her, studying it. "She _is_ rather cute. In a holocartoon sort of way," Leia decided, moving it down to hold the doll's back against her chest.

"It's handstitched, you know. _Human_ hands," Han stressed, "no droids involved. That kind of thing takes times. But get this: you're a top seller. That whole basket? The stall keeper said they'd sell 'em all by the end of the week. There's never a time when they're _not_ sewing new Leias, she said. What'da'ya think of that?"

Leia supposed it was a lovely gesture for him to think of her — even if it was with plans to tease her mercilessly with it — and, of course, it was nice for anyone to think of making a doll of her in the first place. "It's…flattering."

"You're still not gettin' it," he tsked. "There's a reason I ruined my plans and gave this to you now — and it ain't flattery. Kest, Leia, I know Naldar hurts. I know it ain't fair. _All_ the death, all the dyin'. God knows you've endured more than any one person should ever have to. But this is not the end of the Rebellion. Truth is—"

Han balked for a moment, hesitant to admit what had been about to spill out of his mouth, but finally, he let it happen all the same. That's the way it forever went with Leia; he had his boundaries, but she was always able to edge beneath them — hells, get him to _voluntarily_ knock them down when it was for her.

"The truth is, a long time ago, I started thinking, maybe just maybe, _this_ ragtag group can actually pull it off. Maybe this _loooong_shot_,_" he stressed, "Rebellion really can somehow take down a demon and a monster. That was what I thought a long time ago. Lately, I been thinking 'maybe' was an underestimation," he revealed. "'Cos every time I see you out there facing down the Imps — all fierce and badass and never say die — every time I see you up in front of the troops rallying them on, I think, _One day that 'maybe' is gonna be a 'will'. She's gonna _make_ it be. She won't rest until she does._ And every time I think that, I'm damn proud to know you."

Leia could only blink at him, taken aback. Those were high words of praise, from him especially, for both the future of the Alliance and for her, a _tremendous_ vote of confidence from someone who'd long been so vocal about their certain failure.

"You say you've made no headway," Han went on, "think you haven't accomplished anything? You want to know what you've done? _This_," he asserted, reaching out to touch the little Leia doll's cheek. "You think people would want these if you didn't mean something to them? Can't you see it at all? Leia, you're their kriffin' inspiration. After what happened, after…" He paused for a fraction of a second, still reluctant to open that wound for her, but it needed to be said. "…after Alderaan, you could've gone into hiding; into safe houses, like Mon Mothma. It's what everyone expected. No one would've blamed you. You already had more than your fair share of suffering; you had every right to go away somewhere, try to squeak whatever happiness you can out of life. You could've thrown up your hands, saw all that was standin' against you and not even tried. Most people wouldn't've blamed you for that, either. But you didn't. You didn't do any of that."

There was something fierce in his eyes as he talked; Leia saw it. Something fervent, vehement, a burning intensity for the subject. _Impassioned_ — yes, that was the word, and strong enough that she could feel it herself.

"After all you'd been through, the fact that you even still went on, let alone all you've done. I can't even…." Han shook his head, unable to put it to words, her strength and resilience. "That's why you mean something to them. You represent triumph in the face of defeat. You're perseverance. You're _hope_. They wouldn't be making these dolls if you didn't inspire people. You show them grace and strength, persistence and fortitude. You don't think every being out there who's suffering hasn't had a moment where they thought exactly what you just did? That there's no use? No point in trying when everything's this stacked against 'em? But they see you up there — in the holos; on the net; in front of the soldiers on our bases — and you're still fighting on, still giving the Empire hell. And if you can do it, after _everything_, then maybe they can, too. Leia, you're the galaxy's rallying cry. It's not blasters, or X-wings, or the Force. It's _you_. You're their example of fighting against all odds, picking up the broken pieces of nothing and carrying on."

"You give people something to believe in," Han attested. "You're their promise of a better future. Someone who believes in the Good, who will do whatever it takes to make it happen. You're proof that the potential for more, for _better_, does exist. For peace, someday; for them to have good, happy lives if they just hold out till this—" He nodded down to the image the holotable was still faintly projecting, what he now recognized to be the burnt-out ruins of their Naldar base. "— hell is over."

"Until then," he continued, "you show them how to be inspired, even when there sure as hell ain't much inspiration. How to believe when there hardly seems a kriffin' thing left to believe in. They look at you, and they believe — you do that for them. They look at you, and they know it's possible. You _make_ it possible. You've shown the entire galaxy how to get back up on their feet and fight another day. _For_ another day. A better day."

Tapping a button on the table's edge, Han turned it off; she'd seen enough of that for one night. "You're a force to be reckoned with, Leia Organa. More so than Vader knows. And they're fools, every single one of 'em — including wrinkly old Palp — for daring to take _you_ on."

Leia was overwhelmed, nearly past the point of speech. And for once, it was from a happy reason. "You really believe _I_ do all that?"

"And more. 'S not what I 'believe'; it's a fact. It just _is_. It's who you are. Princess, you are….you're…" Finding himself unequal to properly articulate it, Han shrugged helplessly. "Hells, _you're_ the orator here."

She shook her head softly, her voice even softer as she contradicted him. "I wouldn't say that. You've done a _fine_ job so far."

She'd meant every word, but was rewarded anyway with that endearingly crooked half-smile of his, like she'd done _him_ a favor.

"You're one of a kind is what you are, Leia." But lest she feel burdened by what he'd just said instead of buoyed, he added, "And I know all that seems like a fuckin' lot of pressure for only one person. But it's _not_ pressure, 'cos it's not—" Again, he felt unable to express it, all the wonders of Leia. "It's not anything you got to do; it's just who you are. It's _in_ you. An' if you never do a single thing more, you still would've done more for the galaxy than any single being ever has."

Overwhelmed anew, now with a rush of feeling — affection, attraction, such vivid, deep tenderness towards him that she had to bite her lip against the strength of it — Leia's mouth turned up in a warm happiness that reached all the way to her eyes. "And you got this all just from seeing a handmade doll in the marketplace?"

"I got it from _you_," Han corrected. "Didn't need a doll to show me what you've already been showin' me since the day we met. The doll just made me think of you and that was enough, _more_ than enough, to make it worth the credits." He tweaked the edge of the doll's robe. "Now, if you ever again get to thinking we can't win, you can look at her, remember everything I just told you, and know this idea that you can't ever defeat the Empire is complete bantha shit. If anyone can, it's you. It _will_ be you. And when it happens, I won't be a damn bit surprised.

Maybe it was the wide smile dancing on her lips, but he couldn't seem to keep his closed. Tomorrow, he might kick himself for revealing more than he'd meant to — certainly the next time they got into a shouting match, though those were far fewer and further between these days — but right now…._kest_, if it didn't feel good making her feel good. And it was easy when it was only the truth. "You know what I thought that first day on the Death Star?"

"That I was mouthy, spoiled royalty who ought to show a little gratitude for being rescued from her execution?"

"No, that ain't what I—" Leia lifted her brow pointedly until he allowed, "Okay, maybe those first few minutes, but after that? I was impressed. By your spirit. By the _balls_ on you. I think you would've walked right up to Vader and spit in his face if you could've. I was blown away by your audacity, your fearlessness. No," Han thought better of it, "not fearlessness, 'cos fearlessness usually means stupidity. A person _should_ be afraid sometimes — and stuck on Vader's deathtrap was sure one of those times. But even then, you had such nerve. So much courage and determination to rescue yourself. Even if that meant you had to rescue the rescuers, you were gonna get us all out of there; get back to base and see that the Death Star couldn't hurt a single being more."

"You were all that, and do you know who _I_ was back then?" Han owned up. "Fuck, d'ya'know what I said to Luke when he swore we had to go get you instead of saving our own skins? He said, 'But the Empire's gonna kill her', and I said, 'Better her than me, Kid'."

God, he sounded like a ronto's ass just repeating it, but…. "That's what I said. That's who I was. Yet, it only took minutes' worth of knowing you before I wanted to give _you_ every chance I could, every last second we had left up on top of that mound of garbage. An hour of knowing you, and I was inspired to run headlong into a battalion of bucketheads. Didn't even take a full day to get from 'better her than me' to feeling lower than the scum on the tongue of a wart for — how'd you put it? Only lovin' money? Not caring about anyone or anything else? Never would've admitted it then, but by the time I took off from Yavin with a hold full of Alliance credits, I cared a kriffin' lot about what you thought. About who I was. About what I was and wasn't capable of doing, capable of turning my back and a blind eye and just letting happen. Because of you, I started thinking about the Right — right thing to do, right thing to be — and not just what was right for me. _You_ did that. Just by being you. And you think you're not makin' a difference?"

Han motioned to the room around them. "None of this would even be here if it wasn't for you. The Alliance would've gotten blown out of the galaxy. Forget base-by-base; planet-by-planet. And any innocent bystanders that happened to be around would be gone along with them. Your resilience, your resolve, your perseverance are the _only_ reason that never happened."

"No," Leia denied. In that, she felt he'd undeniably given her too much credit. "Luke is the reason why. And you."

"Didn't see any Han Solos or Luke Skywalkers in that basket," Han disputed. "Just a bunch of Princess Leias….And some red and gold decorated veshok and pine trees; it was Winter Solstice on Narvath," he explained. "Point is, the only 'Hero of the Rebellion' who motivates the masses is you. Only one who brought back those schematics that made the shot possible. An' I just told you, I never would've turned around that day if I hadn't been guilted by a mouthy, cinnamon-bunned princess."

She grinned at that, and it was contagious; instantly, Han was grinning right back, warm and full and gratified. "Don't forget, it was your fuzzy blue image that inspired Luke to leave Tatooine in the first place. And you go right on inspiring countless beings every single kriffin' day — every moment — more than you realize. So you think you don't make a difference? You make _all_ the difference, Leia. This was a bad hit, yeah. But you got the strongest deflector shields of anyone I've ever known. You'll fly on, and so will the Alliance. You'll take the hit, come back around, move into attack position and ambush those Imps before they know what hit 'em."

Without another word, Leia walked the remaining few steps forward and simply hugged him, sliding her arms around his waist and setting her cheek to his chest. "Thank you, Han," she whispered around tears — finally ones of comfort, gratitude and happiness, not of loss.

Han had been momentarily caught off-guard by this show of frank affection but he responded quickly, wrapping both arms around her and reverently enfolding her. His heart felt as big as an oswaft as he held her, a sensation that was amplified when Leia snuggled further against him, burying her face in the soft fabric of his shirt and breathing him in.

For a long moment, she fully savored his embrace, allowing herself the weakness — not the weakness of discouragement but of her attachment to Han — when at this particular moment it didn't feel like a weakness, or a threat. She squeezed him a little tighter, and felt the aforementioned 'cinnamon buns' of the doll bunch up against her chest.

Remembering it, Leia eased back from the hug, stepping away from him and discreetly swiping at her eyes as she held up the diminutive version of her. "May I keep this?"

"Course you can," he answered with a teasing smile. "That's what a gift is."

She arched her eyebrow mischievously. "Even though it means you won't be able to say you're sleeping with Princess Leia?"

"Well, I can always _say_ it…."

"Han," she scolded.

"Fine," he sighed purposefully. "Even though. 'Sides, I'm holding out for the real thing."

"Hmm, then I guess I do inspire unfounded hope in the face of _impossible_ odds."

It was a point squarely won for Leia — witty and cheeky and clever — and Han's jaw twitched in delight. "I've never believed in odds. Anyway, I wouldn't be so quick to call it impossible. I'm awfully inspiring myself," he pronounced flirtatiously. "You just watch, Your Highnessness; before you know it, I'll have inspired you right into my bunk."

"When nerfs fly."

"They already do. You can't have forgotten the herd of 'em _you_ made me ferry for the Alliance." Sidling back into her space, this time with far from innocent comfort in mind, Han was all smooth and charming, employing that surefire rogue-smolder that was one of his most reliable moves. "So I guess I'll see you in my bunk tonight, then? Nerfs have flown; through space to boot. _Your_ rules, right?"

"Sadly for you, Captain, I'm going to require _much_ more 'inspiration' that that," Leia countered, seemingly unmoved, despite the newly racing rhythm of her heart.

"I'm a patient man." And one not without at least a little merited hope; for there was telltale color high on her cheeks that wasn't there a moment before. "Never once folded out of a sabaac game I can win."

"Oh? And you think you can win me?"

'Win' wasn't quite the same thing as 'earn', but he sure as hell hoped he could.

Pressed by the intense way he was looking, Leia backtracked self-consciously. "Not _me_. Win your way into my bed, I mean."

"I just might, Princess. I just might…" he answered coyly.

That acted as surefire bait, as he knew it would, and she found herself asking, "And you think _I've_ done something to give you the impression you have a chance?"

"You got tells, Sweetheart. And I'm reading 'em loud and clear."

"You _think_ you are."

Han gave her a smug look along with a devilish smirk, saying nothing, which he knew would be the biggest goad of all.

Leia rolled her eyes but couldn't help herself. "All right, just what exactly are these supposed tells of mine that leave you so sure you'll one day be able to 'inspire' your way into bed with me?"

"Nice try, Worshipfulness. I already gave you one gift tonight," he said, tugging on the doll's hood. "You really think I'm so generous I'm just gonna _tell_ you what they are?"

"Of course not." She shook her head, smiling. "What was I thinking? Not you. You're still a mercenary." A 'mercenary' who hadn't been paid in anything other than replacement parts — which were only damaged in service to the Alliance — for almost a year.

"And you're just as demanding as ever," he slyly retorted, snatching up the little Leia and using the doll to imitate her. "_Take the _Falcon_ to Naldar, Han. What are my tells, Han? I don't know who you are or where you came from, but_—"

"That's enough from you," Leia playfully interposed, grabbing the doll back with a beaming smile. "Thank you for my gift, Han. I mean it." With a heart so _full_, she slipped into earnest sincerity, grateful to him for so much more than just the doll. "Thank you."

He gazed down at her in open, obvious fondness and answered with a heartfelt, "Your welcome."

That response was followed a moment later with, "It was my pleasure", spoken with such chivalry — such gallantry and polite respectfulness, without even a hint of impertinence — that she instantly knew it wasn't right.

"What?" Han chuckled. "Just doing a little inspiring."

Leia set her hands to his chest just long enough to make him think he might be getting somewhere, and then used them to push him toward the doorway. "Get out of here, Flyboy."

"I'll miss you tonight, Sweetheart," he grinned wistfully. Moving in close, Han bent to growl soft and low next to her ear, near enough that his breath stirred the fine hairs that had come loose at her temple. "Imagine I'm lyin' there beside you."

"I — I'd—" Leia stammered, suddenly overheated and flustered. "I would never imagine that." Shoving him safely back away again, she lapsed into her go-to when feeling uncertain and out of her depth: indignant haughtiness. "I guess you're just not as 'inspiring' as you think you are."

"Wouldn't be so sure of that, Highness," Han refuted self-assuredly. "I was talking to the _doll_."

At her look of consternation, his smirk widened.

"But now I know exactly where _your_ mind's at….And you know where to find me when you wanna make it real. Meantime, pleasant imagining, Princess," he said with a wink before turning and walking out of the briefing room.


End file.
